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Cape York - the ‘Tip’ of Australia August, 2005 T’was the time between seasons, And all through the house Packing there’s aplenty, Where’s this quiet as a mouse? Magazines, maps all say Cape, Books, websites whisper York Confidence all going to plan, Why didn’t you pack the bloody fork! Strong clamping of the pod, Chained wheel up on top Full recovery ‐ all checked ready, Look out Oz we’re on the hop. After months of planning, the club's first big trip was on its way – almost. Steve and Donna's Suzuki was packed, dogs kennelled, doors locked, engine idling, off to the meet. Eddie and Barbara's 60’s Landcruiser ‘EBO’ packed, fish fed, doors locked, engine dead. So much for the meet. (Warning – don’t spend the previous 48 hours moving your truck up and down the 10 metre driveway, listening to Neil Diamond singing over the Waeco fridge extra lights plugged into the back whilst inserting an extra set of shelves. A call to say we’ll catch up and we did – half way up NSW in a town called Cobar. Eddie noticed an occasional loss of power on acceleration on the second day with EBO’s diesel and so quite a few times had to call Donna on the two-way to wait at the next bakery. Second night’s moon smiled down on us in Charleville, a town literally between Birdsville and Brisbane and while the girls were deliberating on their euchre hands that night, the boys were deliberating clutch. What annoyed them was that everything was serviced just before departure and Charleville’s 4x4 specialists said the problem was simple- the slave cylinder piston was slipping because someone hadn’t tightened it correctly. But on the other hand if we continue to lose power it was the clutch. Anyone know someone who’d have a clutch that can fit a 60 series GXL diesel lying around? If not, it’s a fly up job via Cairns. And it was at Charleville everyone met Shirley. She’s a bit of a tart really, not frightened to flout her assets in any and every direction and showed no concern who was holding her. Indeed, the number of predicaments we had to physically get our Shirl out of! Well, she did hop along for the ride. Onwards up the Matilda / Landsborough Highway. There was only one slight

hiccup on this leg, the replacing of a power steering belt. As pieces of the shredded belt were being pulled out of the motor, the two girls, champagne flutes in hand, were elegantly forwarding directions from their chairs up on the bank. Of course, just as the boys completed surgery a RACQ road assistance vehicle drove past. One thing came out of this – Steve found EBO’s wiper reservoir cap that had been missing for a few

days. At least we could swap it back with the bit of gaffe-taped cardboard we were using.

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You knew you were going straight up the middle of Queensland because jumpers were now being used as padding to stop that rattle in the back and local plants were appearing that you would only see in a nursery back in Melbourne. Scenery was changing but Outback civilization was no different – the pub, general store, fuel suppliers, garage (identified by the backlog of waiting vehicles) and Cop Shop. We found out why the Kennedy Developmental Road between Townsville and the Burke & Wills Roadhouse was a dotted line on the map but ever onwards to next port of call – Mareeba, a worthwhile place for a base camp. It’s only 50 kms west of Cairns using the Great Dividing Range as a good windbreak and accessible to numerous locations in the Atherton Tableland, Daintree with its military museums and cemeteries, Gordonvale, Port Douglas, Mossman, numerous Aboriginal historical areas, gem fields, lava lodge just to name a few. We definitely gave it a check out with our first two night stay.

Bob’s Lookout Atherton Tableland Ed actually left the place slightly displeased. After how many thousand km of open track, road trains, caravans, Winnebago etc it happened just outside the Mareeba Country Caravan Park. Speedo showing 40 km, an ‘L’ plater going even slower in the opposite direction and now a lovely chip right between the driver’s eyes. Well, we should have obeyed Donna and Steve’s instructions how to get into the

Caravan Park – signalling right but have the left indicator flicking whilst going straight ahead and both giving reversing instructions over the two way. At least the windscreen wouldn’t have got hit as we would have been standing to one side watching the maestros. Peninsula Development Road

Goodbye black, hello dust. Sitting on the Peninsula Developmental Road, having skipped Cairns and going up to Lakeland, all the pamphlets explain the bitumen peters out to a formed, stony road, with corrugations and potholes. Mind you, the books should have included:- stony, winding, hilly, grids, dips, gullies, many open bouldered creek crossings that pound vehicles and passengers all the way, and then of course those bulldust patches that hide suspension wrenching and axle breaking potholes. You can’t open your window to scream agony because you would undoubtedly choke on the dust. Just south of the township of Laura lies Split Rock, thousand year old Aboriginal Quinkan rock art. We hiked up to have a look and were lucky that a tour guide with a small party just then marched past us and we could eavesdrop on what those animals and hand prints actually represented.

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Split Rock

From the Hann River Roadhouse up the Development Road to Archer River. We were going to stop at the historic Musgrave Telegraph Station (nee) Roadhouse. We knew it was built in 1886 and converted to a homestead 1920 because it was written on one of the walls. Now it was a tourist fuel stop with some rather good meals. We timed the trip to avoid the peak season when you had to pull in just after lunch to get a campsite and fill up immediately before the diesel runs out. Another little annoying fact – for a land steeped in so much history and special sites we just never seemed to find them, and that includes two separate map readers on watchout. But what no one could miss – the termite mounds. And they were big. Some of them were that tall they were even looking down on Steve. Starting to climb up now, the track became a bit ‘wobbly’ as we’re going along the top of the hills then down (or is it up?) to Coen. A short bakery stop in amongst all the mining relics then on to the Archer River Roadhouse. Some people said this part of the track is relatively smooth and sandy, but I couldn’t write them a nasty letter of complaint because the top of my biro shook off long ago. Westward ho to the town of Weipa, a large mining town boasting the biggest bauxite mine in the southern hemisphere. You knew you had arrived when ahead of you were huge warning, stop signs and red lights and it was simply an intersection with a road the size of a runway. On stopping and looking left and right onwards rolling into quite a town; luscious green golf-course lawns everywhere, large varieties of exotic trees and flowers, something that actually matched the pamphlets. Lovely, until you left the pleasure of the car’s air-conditioning. Basically you might say two employment options here, either the military base further north or Comalco. We joined a tour around the open mining region and as we approached a truck it kind of grew in size. Parked beside it our bus only reached as high as the hub caps. Now we know what that stop intersection meant – these monsters use roads the size of runways.

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Comalco mine

At night that place does have a beautiful sunset (when those cloudy curtains parted to let you have a peek) but as to my fisherman’s expertise in matching the photos on the cover of fisherman magazines - no luck. Locals blamed it on the lunar positioning and that they only have these freak king tides twice a year,

today being one of them. That’s what they said anyway. But the fish really were there – one guy standing beside me on the jetty had fun pulling in a 2.5m lemon shark, finally getting it onto the beach and retrieving his lure. That shark definitely gave him an ‘I’ll be back with friends’ look when he swam off. So before he brought his friends back, on we went. Donna & Steve –v- clamps

Instead of going all the way back to the main road and up, we took a shortcut through the Batavia Downs Homestead station. A private station with cattle meandering all over the place, but they allowed the public to use their track and I’ll say never again. Steve is a tall gent, more in the giraffe level actually, and Donna being more in the petite and when the Suzuki’s pod shook itself off its clamps watching Steve reaching down to hold the pod in place while Donna was bouncing up and down to try reach up to the clamps to retighten them. I wonder if anyone did drive past would they have stopped to assist or watch? The other tracks were kept rather in good nick for the military and Comalco road trains, but this one – now that was what the books meant by corrugation. It was only about 40 km and took us at least 3 hours. We finally turned left and continued up to the Old Telegraph Road. We’ll never complain about track conditions again except those annoying dips full of dust (some called creeks) that if you hit it a bit hard there is a big bump that Suzi’s petrol tank or EBO’s bum can explain better.

Start of the Telegraph track Up the OT were a few rivers and creeks with water in them, two that actually instigated a bit of a walk through. One thing you notice is how the tracks were all designed to always have a dogleg on the other bank, so not only do you need to traverse the creek but pick up speed on a curve whilst trying to pop through the bottle neck exit. The deepest creek I think we had (albeit dry) needed 4 Low for both of us to avoid smashing up the petrol tank then have enough guts to crawl up and out, but just as I was pulling over a stately little grandmother glancing over the dashboard of a brand spanking new Patrol, went purring past with a slight

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nod. She had to look so stately because her neck was supported in a very strong neck brace. At least she had the decency to go down one gear.

Eliot Falls

On to one of the most photographed scenes up there - Eliot Falls. Up went the tents, on went the togs and into the Saucepan, a lovely deep pool just a bit below the falls. And what a beautiful sautéing it was and even better a long sleep-in next morning until 6 am, compliments of the usual bird call. Two more creeks and along came the Jardine River and it was ferry time. After you pay your $88 fee, make sure you have your camera cocked and aimed before you drive on; because next thing is you’ve crossed and have to drive off. This ferry was a new thing set up with the creation of the Northern Bypass Road (bypassing the nastier creeks). We wondered what was so wrong with the old Jardine crossing so went and had a look if it was feasible to drive over. Forget it. In the dry it might be at most only bonnet deep we think, hard to guess as you can’t see the bottom but its well over 200 feet wide and crocodile signs abound.

And now even more dry – a more ferocious dry. One slab extra light and 2 litres wine per car maximum. Under the new alcohol laws the river is the cut-off point for booze. Well, we only have to last 30 km more to the last town, Bamaga, and they the infamous tip. It was so well packed with tour buses decided to go a bit further up to Seisia and Loyalty Beach campground. Up with the tents, wave at the waves (no swimming because of crocs and sharks), early to bed and ready for that last stretch.

First Creek Crossing – Old Telegraph Track Day 12 - A nice comb of Suzi’s pod, a shake of EBO’s filter, some tanning oil for Shirley and on our way. Through the tropical woodland, sweep around the peninsula, around the Jardine dynasty’s Somerset homestead ruins, past Frangipani Bay and onto PAJINKA - the indigenous Aboriginal name for

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the very special place at the tip of Cape York – although we all agreed the top was actually a tip. Pulling into the car park, indicated by the unfortunate collection of rather overfilled rubbish dispensers is the ruins of what was once a plush resort. There at the end of the track was one large rocky hill.

Getting closer but now without the cover of the trees it became a strong case of hanging onto your hat rather strongly or else your head would blow off. Yes, just over there was a small pebble pyramid. Yes, we’re there. No we’re not. A sign on it said ‘keep going’. Someone thought it was funny; at least it was a good

shield to enable changing batteries in the camcorder. On scaling that mini-Everest the sound of surf actually overrode the wind and Endeavour Strait lay before us. Now there was the real sign - we had arrived at the top! So many had warned us about the lethal seasons, wet and tourist, but we were quickly finding out that the dry no tourist is just as lethal – no water – no fresh plants - no insects – no birds – no animals, nothing really to see and nobody around when you need one.

Sitting of the edge of Australia, Steve kept hard at work trying to make the auto timer work on his camera for a group photo. There was no one there to go ‘click’ for us, although in peak season they say the queue is up to 100 metres for a photo in front of the You Are Here sign. After standing for what seemed

eternity hanging onto each other to avoid getting blown off the edge, we simply hoped the camera worked before it blew off it’s rock and made a bee line straight back to the car park. Even Shirley didn’t want to stand around and have her photo taken – at first. From there down go the tyres and take a look at the beach. At the end of the little cove you could see the track continuing. Suzy went up with a bit of a push but EBO was another story. The run up was good, momentum maintained, but it only needed half a metre, three tyre lengths. Out came the shovels. It wasn’t just for us; we needed them anyway to get the shiny 100 series out that was coming from the other direction. First a car full of dust – now a car full of sand. Unanimous decision – to the hills. Retracing our steps back to Seisia we had to stop for a tree that had decided to try cross the road. Not so long ago a shovel, now

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the bowsaw. No choice, it was either this or sand again. Girls watching boys play in the sand was one thing, but now dragging half a tree off the road, we deserved something nice, and we had used up our quota of wine – not fair. Disillusioned not really disappointed. The weather may be described as sour. It is a windy place but the locals were agreeing it was years since they had such tornado-like conditions, so bad even the ferry to Thursday Island was cancelled, numerous healthy trees all came down, just as we got there. And to top it, after some major investigating, it was now proven beyond reasonable doubt someone had left the new camcorder’s operating instructions on the lounge. So 15 minutes recording the inside of a carry case with the howl of a tornado will be our final memory of the tip.

Tree blocking Cape York Road

WHAT DOES THAT MEAN?

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Cape York Trip Report (The Return) It took 5,000 km to get there. That means? 5,000 to get back.

Time to say goodbye to Bamaga, the last town before the tip of Australia and now to see what the eastern side of the top end has to offer. That is after a u-turn was required to get us out of the cemetery that Donna insists was not on the map and try again. Being thoroughly experienced with the Jardine River ferry now, cameras were on the ready to have a full photo session then onwards. A few snaps of Fruitbat Falls, a further choke from the gossamer sheen of bull dust on passing by the Heathlands Ranger station then aiming for the infamous Gunshot Creek.

Fruitbat Falls This was where the second time in the whole trip the landcruiser came into its element. High, wide and 4L helped swing its way up, over, right, left, clunk, through water carved ravines stringing down the 30 km track to get to the creek, one minute the driver is looking down on the passenger then reverse. Later we had cappuccinos from self mixed thermos. The creek itself was a clear and refreshing stroll from the southern approach but from the north, eight tracks show where attempts were made to take on the creek’s wet, bright orange sludge with its 4-5 metres drop and 50° incline. Locals explained the creation and growth of the ramps were compliments of the yahoos with their 35” muddies

Gunshot Creek Southern Approach

Just as we arrived there was a touch of a to-do between a rider wiping the mud off the tank to have ‘Harley Davidson’ legible again and

his disgruntled pillion passenger as she finished carrying bags and clothes from the other side. You could hear something about “never again”. Actually earlier in the week a Toyota did get across with only one redress to another car’s winch (its own being almost one metre underground) and it took approx 4 hours to clean the mud out of the motor before it actually kicked over.

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Right, that one’s off the must do list, now to the famous dinner at Bramwell Station, which turned out to be three slices very thin roast beef, powdered gravy, instant mashed potato, tinned corn and peas. So nice the boys were left behind at the bar while we girls scuttled back to the tent and boiled up two litres of chicken noodle soup. Soon the aroma lured those two away from the bar who came in rather wet as a drizzle started to increase – first time the tents got wet after 14 days on the road. The dinner disappoint was eased with a beautiful camp next night – Lakefield National Park, definitely earning a re-visit tick and further explore. Unfortunately it was the only park toilet in all of Queensland that didn’t have paper supplied. News of the croc taking the canoeist in the vicinity did explain the large number of warning signs around, but no one could explain why every sign we saw had more German than English.

Captain Cook watching the Endeavour River, Cooktown

Then dinner at the Cooktown RSL – now that’s what you’d call a beef steak a beef steak. The books describe Cooktown as the leading untouched town north of the tropic of Capricorn and you could actually feel why. Nestled on the mouth of the Endeavour River up on Cape York Peninsula, drive around and you’re back to when the Endeavour was beached for repairs in 1770, the hill where Cook climbed for bearings, Banks noting strange creatures, nunnery, lighthouse, cemetery, gun powder storage (preparing for the Russian invasion) and even some interesting tracks to explore up coast so long as you make a run for it before the tide turns. Pity though the place averages 40° during summer.

“Off to Seek His Fortune” A relaxing sleep in, bakery stop, pause by Captain Cook’s statue for Shirley to give him a goodbye kiss then off to the third textbook entry – Lions Den Hotel. The tourist flood was over so like everywhere else we easily parked in front, flit past the guarding African animals and in. You can see why during tourist peak period this place is packed, just start

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reading what’s on the walls, if you can get to them of course. Some females in the past must have taken the highroad and climbed over the patrons, how else did the bras get up there? You’d have no problems watching Oprah with the 120 cm TV in the poolroom but my preference was watching the antique blue heeler flicking his ear as he rested under the barstool of an antique codger.

Main Bar, Lion’s Den

On to Wujal Wujal falls and our first croc. Steve picked it out on the other side and all eyes were needed to constantly point it out as it lay on the rock, blink once and the shape disappears. Then Woobadda creek, only tyre deep but Ed’s nightmare,

at least he got the engine going before having to bring the snatch straps out; a final crawl up the Donovan Range track and there was Cape Tribulation/Daintree NP. The Coral Sea, Great Barrier Reef, animals, flowers galore, luscious rainforests and – best of the lot - bitumen roads. From swagmen and drovers, horses, dogs and mangy looking cattle in the land of dust and ruts, to bikinis, sunshine, psychedelic flowers and deafening mating calls of exotic animals. Well, that’s what the ads say. The Daintree Discovery Centre showed why it has International recognition in experiencing nature. The buds

on all the plants indicate a floral explosion is looming, above the trees the leaves show one vast parasol with dust being washed off, the high footpath decking giving enough clearance for many feathered freeways and a multi-language transmitter as a tour guide. It’s all about to happen – next month of course. But when you do go during Spring, schedule it for at least one week stopover.

Wallaman Falls

Cairns believes in giving nice showers, bucketing was a more accurate description, but when blended with the dust that just keeps coming out of everywhere you get a good mud pack, (cement pack actually) and ensuring most things remain nice and tacky. A bit of a river cruise was interesting once we

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crossed and managed to see the other bank through the rain, then test out the Mossman Gorge track with only some showers hourly. Maybe not so bad if the only dry clothes you could find were dry and not have that lovely cold damp from the constant down pouring. Everywhere you could see why the names ended up in all the brochures, like Cardwell with a Coral Reef museum park; Mission Beach and Wallaman Falls; Townsville and its surrounding suburbia. The weather was finally smiling, but all fishing and reefing boats were booked out for at least two weeks, so now the Great Barrier Reef trip had to be deferred (not that upsetting as the ‘blue’ coast had been a very dark grey for the last few weeks). Decision time - Lovely wet rainforest (try more rain than floral forest) and tourist cities –v- dry/hot outback dust (with the enjoyment of a day’s hard slog to arrive somewhere). One of the highlights of the trip – Paronella Park

Overhearing weather forecasts that the entire east coast was getting a flooding, with Cairns being hit by a freak storm that had actually turned and hit Cairns again, then turned once

again and hit it a third time (while we were sitting in the middle of it of course) and warning more storms coming resulted with a skip over the ranges and on to Charters Towers, dry, warm and only 130 km away. The change was unbelievable. The luxurious Great Barrier Reef, sky rail, deep sea fishing – well next time. Charters Towers, 1500 km from Brisbane with good blokes and warm-hearted sheilas, is mostly of heritage origin or otherwise re-built to original design. From 1871 onwards the place was built from the proceeds of goldmining and so the nouveau riche miners were determined to flaunt their wealth and the resulting architecture and scenery a digital cameras click to their battery’s delight. Shopping centres ranging from Mitre 10, Inland Electronics, Kentucky, two Optometrists, 4x4 accessory specialist, five bakeries, very cheap op shop and finally getting 4c fuel dockets. But on drying out tents and bedding, a target was set so early on day 25 goodbye to this nice historical town and on to reach a destination a long 600 km southwest – Longreach

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Longreach Stockman’s Hall of Fame and home of QANTAS

Stopping for a bit of a leg stretch under the auspices of Hughenden’s Mutt the Muttaburrasauras and other flying and land dinosaurs, including a 22 metre Sauropod, an Anhungurea, of the Pterosaur group and attempting to pronounce the words stopped when on the horizon was the outline of a Qantas 747-200 jet. Then driving past the Stockman’s Hall of Fame confirmed we’ve reached Longreach, right in the centre of Queensland and sitting on the Tropic of Capricorn. Queen Elizabeth opened that Hall of Fame 17 years ago and lots of refurbishing makes sure it’s got top of the range technology for electronic displays, exhibits, real life holographs, photos, full reconstructs, videos showing what we just drove through those pioneers lived in and used feet for transport. The air-conditioning is very good, having just spent 45 min outside watching a dinky-di stockman relate his life and introduce his family – his two horses and heelers. While one dog went out to herd in some sheep from an outer paddock somewhere, another one made sure a small herd pretended they were statues. Even though it was a mild 30+° it was fascinating listening to his reasons for every leather strap on the horse and items such as to how a horse actually gets measured (Hint:- it has something to do with Steve’s handkerchief). Across the road from the Hall of Fame was the 747 jet (it’s the only one in the world open to the public “as is” when it came out of service and Shirley found the cockpit most accommodating) alongside the 1920 original hangar for the Queensland And Northern Territory Aerial Services Limited a.k.a. QANTAS and the new exhibition building with numerous displays, full size replicas of biplanes, test cockpits, the founders’ original Ford T and history of Longreach’s School of the Air.

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Sunset on the billabong River

And final icing of the stay, a night Billabong River Cruise with the Thomson Belle paddle wheeler. You could tell we were the only people under 65 there, first being the energetic ones climbing to the top of the boat and the captain’s wheelhouse (he thought Shirley was rather very sexy) then going for seconds of stew and damper/treacle served at our campfire meal by a corks dangling swagman.

Cars refuelled, a skip down the Newell Highway via Roma Caravan park (we had to stop somewhere with a TV to watch the AFL semi final) to Moree, where 720 metres beneath the town is the Great Artesian Basin it’s mineral water having thermal temperatures ranging from 29° to 59°, soothing in preparation for the long haul ahead. Mind you, it’s a bit disconcerting to find out you were camped next to the runway of Moree Airport, a regular stop

for Qantas. Just as you packed the dinner plates away, the wheels of a jet barely cleared the tree you were camped under. Back to the thermal pools for more soothing. Deep discussion over hamburgers at Coonabarabran next day as to who really left the most impression –the Canadian couple with the tandem bicycle, just up from Adelaide on their way around Australia really enjoying the Aussies cricketers’ one day match once we explained the rules; -the pair of Telstra linesmen who set up camp under the community bbq shelter, swags on stretchers, esky of refreshments and a 400m of extension lead to run the 68” TV they carried in; - the just woken new dad screaming that the noisy unwrapping of a roadmap might wake the baby, unaware the leaves still sticking to his windscreen were due to the backlash of a landing jet he never heard; -the cat happy for a good feed of cheese, milk, prawns and tuna oil but very confused when he came back later that night with some sort of rat to share with us, which we wouldn’t do no matter how loud and long he meowed

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Day 31 - Cowra, Australia’s WWII POW camp where Italians, Germans and Japanese made a united break attempt –luckily with nil success. Since Donna and Steve were starting afternoon shift in a couple of days, they had to hike it but EBO meandered onwards to first visit Sir Don Bradman’s birthplace at Cootamundra. Some say, - you’ve seen it now, go elsewhere. Others pronounce you now have a feeling for the conditions so go back and explore further. Or there is the third option - skip the bit you didn’t like, set up camp where you had a ball and with more time now find the turn off to the destinations you missed the first time round. Final suggestions • don’t forget your e-mail address • if concerned about mobile phone coverage - every settlement has a good old landline available • obey the books that stipulate halving your cargo • don’t fill up your esky in Melbourne Safeway and Coles as prices are much cheaper up there • people with spectacles, chuck a second pair in your bag, if you don’t sit on your good ones someone else always does

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Our mascot “Shirl”

Palmer River Roadhouse Barbara Tabaka